


yeetus: the birth of a stinky bastard man

by poltersucc5000



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, F/M, High School, Homosexuality, M/M, Self-Discovery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13538784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poltersucc5000/pseuds/poltersucc5000
Summary: im gonna write shit about my life.





	1. Chapter 1

It started with a six year long anxiety attack. Elementary school: Where everyone learns the basics of life. How to socialize, how to do basic math, how to use proper grammar, and how to be a model citizen. How not to act. I never was good at the socializing bit. I got bullied a lot, in fact. I didn't have friends. I had people I thought were cool, and talked to me sometimes, but no actual friends. Except for one girl, who I am eternally grateful for, but other than her I had no one.  
Now, I will admit I've always been a smart kid. I started reading at 2, and I read well. By second grade, I was reading at a seventh grade level. I loved reading, more than anything; except for video games. I was also fascinated by science. When I was little, I had a snail collection in a cotton candy cup with holes poked in the top. They were cute to me, and they still are. But my interests came with a heavy label; Tomboy.   
I liked digging in the dirt for bugs. I played video games all the time. I spent more time than most girls my age with boys. I never wore pretty bows in my hair. I was hairy. For my perceived masculinity and intellect, I was shunned. But I never let it stop me from doing what I liked. Now you see, I was also a bit of a goody two-shoes. I had a strong moral compass. I thought rules were in place for a reason, and I dreaded disappointing the adults in my life by breaking them.  
I had flaws, though. I could never sit still or focus. I got nervous a lot. I was overweight. I talked too much, and asked too many questions. I took my life for granted. Then, in third grade, my mom died.  
Everything changed. My dad suddenly had to take care of me. I had to take care of him, it was more like. I repressed my emotions because he was so broken. He loved my mother more than anything else, which was why he was never home. He worked 80 hours a week to support his family. My mother had terrible arthritis and a herniated disk in her back, you see. She was a stay at home mom because working hurt too bad. So naturally, she took lots of medicine and had to go to the doctor a lot. This was expensive, so my dad had to work harder to afford it. But then one day, she overdosed on her pain medicine. And he was left with me.  
It was awkward, at first. He was depressed. I was in shock. He didn't know how to take care of a child, and he didn't know what I liked. At school, everyone pitied me and started offering me their condolences. Talking to me, like they hadn't been ignoring me. I was angry at their bullshit. I became more bitter, and withdrawn. I started acting passive aggressively. "If you step on a crack, you'll break your mom's back!" "My mother is dead." I stepped on all the cracks bitterly because I knew they couldn't do anything to ashes.  
People started avoiding me again, they could tell I had changed. I had been slightly morbid before my mom's passing, but afterwards I became even more so. I believe this is when my depression started. I already had a low self esteem from being ignored for years, and my mother being ripped from my life just piled on to that. My issues with focusing became worse. I still aced my tests of course, and I knew the material in my classes, but I was disorganized and never turned my work in on time. I've always had this problem, but it just got worse as time went on.  
In fourth grade, I made a few friends. They liked Harry Potter as much as I did. I even got one of them a friendship bracelet, but I don't think they liked me as much as I liked them. I was boring, and afraid of rejection. I worried constantly about everything.  
For the first and only time that year, I failed a major test. It was the writing portion of the FCAT; The prompt was boring, and I came up with what I could. "Write about what it would be like if you took a camel ride in the desert!" I didn't understand morbidity wasn't a normal thing for most 9 year olds, and I had recently watched episode 5 of Star Wars, so I wrote about gutting the camel and staying in it's innards, because I would've gotten lost. My writing skills were paltry when I was younger, and coupled with the subject matter, I got a 2 1/2 on the test. I was devastated; I had never failed a major test before. I was only half a point away from passing, too. I cried when my teacher pulled me aside to tell me, and she was shocked. She had never seen me cry over anything.  
I think that's when I really changed. I felt inadequate. Like if I tried my hardest, nothing would come out of it, and I would get disappointed. My pessimistic point of view was bound to come around some time, optimism had never worked for me. I was never happy. I always felt a twinge of doubt whenever I thought things would get better for me, because nothing ever worked out for me. I exerted so much effort into school, and I got by, but just barely. I had good grades in elementary school because it was easy, and I distracted myself with my work.  
In 5th grade, I snapped. I started swearing to fit in. It was such a big change for me because I still had a strong moral compass. I disliked when people swore, but I figured I would gain friends if I swore like they did. I was right. People started talking to me because they stopped perceiving me as boring. But I still felt empty; I knew they didn't like the real me. But I pretended to be one of them. It was pretty much a complete 180° for my personality. I became loud, and brash. Then, middle school came around.  
It was 6th grade. I had an all new schedule, with 7 separate teachers for my classes. I started band, because I wanted to impress my dad and have a talent. I was a bit bitter, and I took things seriously. I snapped at the kids who laughed and messed around. They were disrupting the class, and I was jealous that they could have fun, when I always felt so miserable. But that changed.  
His name was Alex. He was a scrawny, gangly thing. Class clown. We had all of our periods together. We became friends somehow. He made me feel... Special. I didn't realize I would fall in love with him, but I did. We were close. And by that, I mean I followed him around like a lost puppy looking for attention. But I guess he liked my company, because he never told me to scram. We were both pretty nerdy, and we bonded over Pokèmon. It was that year that my grades slipped.  
His grades were shit. He slacked off about three quarters of the time. This rubbed off on me. I wanted to pay attention to him, not my work. And it's not like my dad payed attention to me anyways, right? He had work. He couldn't afford to spend time with his kid. So I stopped caring. I slacked off at school AND at home.  
Well, my dad payed attention to me alright. After a while of me slacking off, one night I was sitting on the couch. Looking at my computer. I tried to work, but I couldn't focus on it. It was bland, and boring, and I stared at it for an hour trying to make sense of it. Then he came out to the living room and asked if I was doing my homework. I said no. I regretted that answer. He grabbed me by my hair, opened the door, and almost threw me out.  
Naturally, that traumatized me a little more. I stopped talking as much. Stopped eating lunch. I felt even more inadequate. I cried myself to sleep most nights, knowing I could never be enough. My grades became even worse, and I tried to impress Alex even more. Nothing was okay, but I didn't want to say anything to anyone.  
The next year, Alex wasn't there. I felt a little empty. What was I gonna do now? I didn't have anyone else who cared about me. This is the year I really broke. I became emo. Starting listening to MCR, P!atD, Nirvana, and a lot of depressing music. I wore dark clothes with lots of skulls, and wore heavy eyeliner. It felt good to know there were people who felt like me. My depression swallowed me. I stared at my desk in most of my classes and felt deflated all the time. I cried even more.  
This all came to a head when I had a breakdown in the middle of my 6th period and almost got sent to a mental facility. My dad cried while driving me home, he asked me why I never told him. I snapped and told him it was his fault. Which wasn't a lie, but he didn't need to know. I finished the year off with abysmal grades, and everyone knew I was batshit insane.  
In 8th grade, I figured out I was transgender. Everything clicked for me. How I always hated being called a girl, why I liked being in line with the boys, why I was never a proper lady. I was never a lady at all, I was a guy! I told my dad, and he didn't accept it. I had to do a lot of convincing to let me get a haircut. I came out at school, and people were pretty chill about it. They knew I was different from the start. I had anxiety attacks daily, though.  
That year, I went to the aforementioned mental facility of my own volition and stayed for a couple of days to try and get my head straight. I talked about my problems, socialized with kids like me. They put me on Celexa, and the world seemed so much brighter. I felt like I had my innocence back. I didn't fail my classes that year.  
Then, I went to high school, and things were shit again. My meds didn't work like they used to. I started marching band, and goddamn is that shit taxing on your body when you're fat. My grades were shit again because I had band practice all the time. But I felt like it was worth it, because I had so many new friends. I started going to section bonding parties, and I actually had fun. People liked me for me, because I was weird and I didn't care about being different anymore.  
I was in the band hallway one day. My friends were playing around and I watched with amusement. I didn't know everyone naturally, so there were unfamiliar faces around. Then I hear an interesting arguement. "What the hell, did you just touch my boob?" "Oh my god, I'm sorry, it was an accident! I was going for your stomach!" I whirl around to look. It's my friend Ashley, and some dude in my art class. She looks at me and asks me to get revenge for her, and I'm pretty amused. I look at the guy, slap him with a pack of Poptarts, and grab his titty. "How dare you grab her boob. You're my titty bitch now." "Uhhhhh.... okay." Then I started hanging with him in art, and we become friends. And I promptly fall in love again. His name is Pedro, and he's a fucking nerd. Gangly, slightly taller than me, and nerdy is apparently my type. Honestly, I'm too gay for this world.  
So I wait a couple of months to get to know him better, and then I ask him out. Turns out he's straight. Shit. That hurt like a motherfucker. So, my heart was broken. I cried for a while, and tried to get over it. It didn't work. At least I met my best friend too last year. Her name is Abby, and she's a shy nerd who plays clarinet. Her parents think I'm a bad influence on her though, because I have bad grades and I'm not religious.  
Anyways, we ended marching season on a good note. We got the highest marks possible on our assessment. I cried for three hours straight after MMPA because I wouldn't get to see the seniors again, and I was happy at the same time. The rest of the year was kind of a blur, I spent most of it dicking around. My depression was still pretty bad, but not as bad as it was in 7th grade.  
Now I'm a sophomore. There haven't been any real changes, honestly. I'm still depressed, lonely, and anxious, but I'm a bit older. I have no idea what I'm going to do in the future, and it stresses me the fuck out. College seems like a waste of time and energy. I'd need good grades to get in, and I'd need to pass my classes once I'm in. I'm just existing. Sometimes, my depression gets so bad that even breathing gets hard. I don't see myself with a future, my self esteem is still abysmal. I've always been sure that I would kill myself before I graduated high school. But here I am, with no purpose other than to fuck things up.  
At least I'm good at that.


	2. up, down, all around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the update.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt feel like updating for a long time. but i do now. so i am

It's my junior year. Halloween the 1st. I look bomb today, but I missed my bus, so my dad yelled at me. This story reads like My Immortal, but that's okay, because no one reads this anyways. I've been crying myself to sleep lately, or barely getting any sleep at all. I feel like I'm never actually going to get better. I don't really have anyone I'm pursuing romantically anymore, because I've been rejected so many times by everyone I thought worthy of me. The feelings are still there, but my brain is being logical for once.  
I'm going to be real; is there any point in life at all? It doesn't feel like it. If everything goes as planned in my life, I'm still not going to be happy. I can't think of anything that genuinely would make me happy. Not being rich, or living with a loving boyfriend in a nice house with a nice job, or having every game, Pokemon card, foreign coin, and pretty rock I could ever want. Not going hang gliding, or going to Universal every day, or world peace, or being a serial killer. Nothing ever truly appeals to me. I'm always settling, but isn't the point in life to be happy? I'm never happy. So there's no point in life.  
I want to be happy. Just for once in my life. I want everyone in my life who's important to me to pay attention to me, and see what's going on, and actually try to help. My dad doesn't do shit. He sits around and plays video games all day, and never once asks if he can help me. But he expects me to do everything he wants and live up to his expectations anyways, even though he clearly sees there's something wrong.  
I don't think my meds are working. I'm a monster when I'm off of them, but I'm still miserable when I take them regularly. At this point I'm afraid to tell my doctor, because he'll think I'm a lost cause. Maybe he's right. I'm always at the verge of a mental breakdown, and nothing makes it better. Friends? Cool, I only see them during school, and they're always busy. Family? Fucking tubular, they misgender and deadname me and never pay attention to me. Video games? Alright, but I'm not doing anything productive. Doing something productive? Amazing, I don't have the energy for anything else. Sleeping? Actually great, but afterwards I can't sleep more and everyone judges me because I have less time for my homework or cleaning. Nothing fucking works. I'm over life.  
So that brings me to the solution of my problem. You can already guess what it is. But how would I do it? All research points to there not being an ideal way to kill yourself. I have no access to a gun. There's nowhere for me to hang myself, and I'm too fat anyways. Overdosing on meds is painful as hell and not guaranteed to work, along with drinking chemicals like bleach. Slitting my wrist is out of the question because I'm a pussy and I would be too weak to slit the other one. There's nothing I can jump off of. I have no access to carbon monoxide or any other gases. Anything else would be painful and have a larger possibility of not working. So, there is no solution. But how can I live like an empty shell of a person and suffer every day of my miserable life? I have no purpose. There is nothing I am good for, and everyone would move on quickly if i died.  
I have to talk to my therapist after school today. It's not helping, though. He's a nice guy, really, but I just don't feel like there's anything left for me.


End file.
